Bounty Hunter
by Talibah
Summary: Mycroft and Lestrade have a common friend other than Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn't like her. Amelia is called in to help find Moriarty. Sherlock/OC eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft studied the girl who stood with her back to him, staring out at the scenery of London. He had called her in because he was, though he wouldn't admit it, stuck. He had worked with her briefly when she was just starting out, but even then she got the job done. It had taken some time to find her again, but once he caught her scent, he grabbed her and pulled her up into the building that was his office.

"Amelia, don't you want to know what I need?"

She half-turned, a smile ghosting across her face, and spoke, "Mycroft, I already know, and I'll gladly help seeing as I've been following him for some time."

He hesitated, not expecting that. "Oh?"

"He has a whole empire, and has gained many enemies. So, yes, I've been hired to find him before."

"By?"

Amelia waved her hand, turning to face him. "All sorts. Fellow criminals, parents of victims, the police. Actually, your brother's friend, that DI, he's called me. I was on my way when you got lucky and practically kidnapped me."

"My brother's DI?" Mycroft raised one nicely trimmed eyebrow, leaning back against his desk.

She nodded, slipping her hand into her pocket and fishing out a phone. She directed her attention to it for a moment before showing it to him. "Your brother, if I remember correctly. My first case and he looks like he's doing better. Doesn't remember me, barely notices I'm there. I bet he thinks I'm just some cop." Amelia shrugged one small shoulder, replacing the phone. "Care for a walk? I know you think they're dreadful, but I really shouldn't be late, and you're nice company on a good day."

He laughed a genuine expression just for her and nodded. "My lady, for you, the world."

She shook her head, knowing he was always a show-off with the girls, and started on her way towards the lift. Once inside, she let her hair fall from the small bun she had put it in, letting it fall in soft waves around her face. She still looked, to Mycroft, breakable. Although she wasn't a stick, she still gave off a rather passive appearance.

She was generic looking, when her hair was up. A normal person would guess her age would fit with that of a university student, but he knew she was just barely 18. Sure, she didn't tell people that, but he had gotten all files available. However, Amelia Smith was nearly nonexistent, and very common in her life. Average.

_Perhaps,_ Mycroft reasoned, _that's why she can infiltrate anywhere._ He would have loved to have her work with him in his office and with the government, but she made it clear the first time they met, she was better on her own.

"So," she said, looking up in the reflection to him, "why are you on his case? Because he's targeted Sherlock?"

He frowned down at her. "The DI tell you that?"

She smiled effortlessly. "Yeah, and I figured he would come up on _your_ radar sooner or later. He's a big name, helps a lot of bad people." She turned to look at him, her brown eyes gazing into his blue ones. "Anyway, now that Sherlock's doing better, he's helping out the Yard. Very interesting. You suggest that to the DI?"

Mycroft shook his head, taking out his phone to let Sherlock know that he would be seeing him at Scotland Yard.

"It seems my brother found the DI on his own. How, I'm not going to disclose." His lips closed and he looked at her steadily, something that usually put anyone of his underlings quiet.

Amelia, though, grinned in response. "No, of course not. It doesn't matter, Mycroft. I was just trying to make small talk. I've forgotten you're not one for such pleasantries."

He smiled at her as they exited the elevator, and walked alongside her toward the Yard.

xxx

"What sort of person are you bringing along?" Sherlock stood over Lestrade, who simply kept his focus on his phone.

"She's kind of like a profiler, Sherlock," Lestrade repeated.

A noise was heard and Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, great! Now my brother's going to be here. Has something else happened? John, has something else happened?"

"Mycroft will be here? Why? No! I don't know if something else blew up," John said, looking up at his exasperated colleague.

Lestrade sighed, checking his computer for any new reports. "Wait, did you say _brother_?"

"Yes," came a voice from behind Sherlock. "Older brother, if we're being technical." The man attached to the voice tugged his jacket closer to him and rested his umbrella on his arm as he stepped to the side to allow a younger lady through.

"Mycroft, don't be posh and mean. It's not nice," the girl chastised with a smile. She lifted her hand to wave at the two gentlemen in Lestrade's office. "Hello! I'm Amelia. I help out sometimes, when I'm in town and when Greg wants to see me." Her smile grew into a grin as Lestrade chuckled.

"Amelia, you always seem to make people so comfortable," Lestrade said, coming towards her with open arms. "You've even got a Holmes smiling. Bet that took effort." He winked after he pulled away from her hug.

She shrugged, elbowing Mycroft. "He's a nice lad when he wants to be, this one. Actually, if we could shut the door, I'll tell you what I've gathered on this Jim fellow." Her expression darkened, seeming out of place on her soft features.

Once extra chairs were brought in, and Amelia took a place next to Lestrade behind the desk, she opened up the file on Jim Moriarty. Lestrade had taken out a blurred photo of what was thought to be him, and Amelia frowned. Shaking her head, she bent down to her bag and took out a folder, opened it, and showed the gentlemen an artist's rendering of the Irish madman.

"His real name, or the earliest name he has been known by, is James McCanless. He stays with James, almost always. I haven't heard of him being called anything else, and very rarely by McCanless. It was a slip-up by some dead-beat who had worked briefly with him years back."

She took out a few sheets with hand-written reports.

"Greg knows I don't have records aside from written papers from memory, but I have a very good memory." Her eyes ghosted up to Sherlock who had huffed quietly before they landed back down. "Now, I haven't been able to get settled long enough to look up McCanless, but I guess that's what Lestrade is for, eh?" Again, she smiled at the gray-haired man.

He turned to his computer to power up the Yard's search engine.

"James McCanless was kidnapped at ten in 1986 right under the nose of his mother in Dublin. I remember; it was all over the news," said Mycroft, leaning closer to the clearer picture of Moriarty.

"It's still unsolved," added Lestrade, turning the monitor to show the rest.

"From what I've gathered, his kidnappers were able to keep a hold on him with threats for about a year and a half until he ran away. That's where he met that guy that let his name slip. When he ran, the gang – that's what the kidnappers were, a gang – killed the McCanless'."

Lestrade stopped her, "Look, he has one relative, a younger sister born in 1987, one Elizabeth McCanless, who moved to America to live in 2005."

Amelia glanced at the monitor before reaching down into bag and pulling out a notebook to write down the new information.

"This isn't a very big file," John said, making the others in the room realize he was there.

"It just seems that way," Mycroft brushed off, "she has absurdly small handwriting, and writes front and back."

She smiled up at John, still transcribing the information.

"Even with this information, what the hell are we going to do?"

Mycroft leaned back in his seat, his face turning dark as Amelia ripped the page out and put it in her folder. "Amelia infiltrates."

"Oh, no!" Greg said, turning around in his chair to look at her. "I didn't hire you to do any of that. You're a profiler, that's all."

She rolled her eyes, turning to face him completely. "I do more than that. I have many talents; you'd be surprised." Gathering her things, she plucked a card from her pocket and set in on his desk. "Call me if you need me. I _must_ check into my hotel."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So I got a review saying Amelia is Mary Sue, and if she seems to be, I'm really sorry. I'm kind of bad at working with a lot of characters at once so developing Amelia is sort of difficult right now.

ALSO! I want to thank who reviewed! And let you know that I didn't intentionally put Amelia Smith as a sort of tribute to Matt Smith and Karen Gillan. :P I figured Smith was the most common surname in Britain, and I love 'A' names and Amelia was the first to come to mind for personal reasons.

But! If you want to think of Amelia Smith as Karen/Matt I can't hold it against you. Thanks, guys.

It was easy for Amelia to blend in, especially in a busy city like London. So, stepping out of nondescript hotel and walking towards Mycroft's office building, she knew that none of his CCTV cameras were on her. She looked like anyone else. Her long sleeves covered her arms tightly, loosely hanging everywhere else. Her long trousers, covering her common, black trainers were also loose in the legs and tight on the waist. Even her hair was nothing special, up in a pony-tail, short bangs covering her forehead. Her bag, the only thing of price, draped across her body, leather worn and, though it didn't look it, was big.

As she stepped into the lobby, she saw one of the many drivers Mycroft had his political hands on and smiled, slipping her hand into her pocket and showing him her ID. He nodded, and she walked towards the lift, pushing the correct floor correct floor button. Once it got to the floor that held Mycroft's office, she showed her ID once more, to an assistant.

"I'm Amelia, and you're a new face!" Her smile was genuinely friendly. "What's your name today? I know Mycroft advises his assistants to tell people different names." She tapped one side of her nose with her right index finger.

The woman, eyes only a bit wider, smiled back. "You can call me Kylie."

Amelia nodded and began to walk past. "I know he has a few guests in there. One of them called me over, so I'm just going to go on in. He'll know I'm here." She didn't turn around to talk to Kylie, because Amelia knew the young woman was following her. Knocking once, she opened the door to the three gentlemen she had seen a few days previous.

"Mycroft, dear, tell your friend here she's not in any trouble letting me in. I know she's a busy woman."

In response, the politician walked towards them with a smile beginning to pull at his lips.

"It's alright, Kylie. Amelia often does this when she's in town. Thinks she owns the place, the girl does." He waved her off, taking a piece of paper from Amelia when she walked past him.

Amelia's face lit up on Greg and set her bag on Mycroft's desk, hauling herself to sit on it like a proper teenager. "I've got word," she whispered, leaning toward John, "that your surgery is doing very well." She grinned at his astonished look.

Mycroft tutted at her, eyeing her as she sat on his desk. "It's no worries, Dr. Watson. She looks into everyone she works with. Bit of a bad habit of hers."

"And what," Sherlock said, looking at her with a tad bit of disdain, "does she know about you, _brother_?"

Mycroft just waved his hand, and Amelia dug through her bag for her file of Moriarty. She gave it to him, slipping off the desk so he could sit behind it.

"These are very vague, Amelia," Mycroft said, lifting his eyes.

She frowned, a look that turned her whole being slightly somber. "They're facts, Myc."

Sherlock, with a roll of his eyes, repeated her, "_Myc_."

She flicked her eyes to him before letting them fall back to the detective's brother. "I mean, these are people on the streets. Most of them risked their lives telling me where they'd heard the name." Walking to the window, she absently took her hair down and pulled her fingers through it. "I couldn't do much else without getting into anything deeper than talking to shady characters."

"Amelia," Lestrade murmured, meeting her at the window, "I know you usually like infiltration, but this…this _empire_ is too dangerous."

"And maybe you should let someone more experienced try," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock!" Greg warned, casting a glance his way.

Nodding, Amelia turned and flitted toward Mycroft. She smiled down at him, batting her eyelashes.

He pursed his lips, shaking his head. "I will _not_ give you permission to go and penetrate whatever that man has created. Amelia, you are eighteen years old! Imagine what would happen if they found out what you were truly up to."

She scowled at him. "Mycroft, if I could get close – if I could work my way up to James, I could easily get into his head."

"Right," Sherlock scoffed, "you."

Her gaze finally landed on him and she stepped away from Mycroft. Her eyes were on Sherlock steadily, her body tense and rising to its full height. Her face, though, was what caught the men that knew her previous off guard.

It was a mixture of sweet calm and blinding anger. Her eyes seemed to have a shadow in them. Slowly, she licked her lips, a dangerous challenge it seemed, and she started to move forward as if she wasn't even thinking. With a foot between Amelia and Sherlock, her eyes caught his in a locking gaze.

He was frozen, and his mind and face seemed to be wiped from any thought. He was preparing to defend himself, in the safest way possible. It wasn't as if he wanted to _hurt_ Amelia, but he would shove her off if need be. Sherlock knew it would take just a moment longer for any of the other men in the room to grab for her if she made a move, and he hoped she was just going to say something. He was caught a bit off guard, but he wouldn't tell anyone else that. No, Sherlock Holmes was _not_ intimidated, but he was slightly entranced.

She cleared her throat suddenly, dropped her gaze, and rubbed her face before turning away with a smile.

"Oh, do forgive me! I haven't a clue what happened. Seemed a thought wanted to be spoken, but it went away just as quickly."

Sherlock released a breath behind her, and his legs seemed to want to buckle, but instead his weight fell back and he leaned against the wall.

"Sherlock," she said, a chipper tone lacing her features, "sorry, dear, you're okay, though, right?"

Grabbing her bag, she walked towards the door. "I've got to run. Ever so hungry. Meet you lot in about an hour. Ciao!"

As the door closed behind her, Mycroft rose from his chair to check on Sherlock.

Furiously, Sherlock swiped at his hands. "That-that-that _girl_! That _child_ is unbelievable." Then he stalked to sit down in a chair across from Mycroft's desk.

Greg took a deep breath. "I have never seen that expression on her face."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, me either. And I've known her for about three years." He bit the inside of his lip for a moment before settling down in his chair behind the desk and opening the files.

"It was like all the energy around was drained and focused into some sort of… I haven't got a clue what it could be," Greg said, running a hand through his hair.

"Well it's done now," Sherlock snapped, leaning back in a quiet huff.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft stood outside Scotland Yard with John Watson as a taxi pulled to a halt in front of them. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, offering one to John who shook his head.

Amelia stepped from the cab, tipping the driver with a smile. "Gentlemen," she greeted, taking out a prepaid phone from her pocket. "I called a friend of mine for help and he said he'd be happy to help us. He owes me a favor, and I thought he'd be perfect for this. He has plenty of skeletons in his closet that Moriarty can use against him."

"But what exactly could he ask Moriarty for?" John said, following Amelia and Mycroft into the Yard.

"A way to get here from the States. He moved there a few years back, but got into a bit of a tiff with his now-ex-girlfriend, and I've been able to manipulate a few of Moriarty's associates to contact him."

Mycroft pulled out his phone and scrutinized Amelia. "What's his name?"

Amelia rolled her eyes, glancing at his hands. "Kyle Montgomery, but honestly Mycroft, he's an asset to my job and taught me everything I know now about infiltration. Plus, I doubt you'll find any records on him."

"What if these associates have heard of him?" Mycroft asked, looking down at her.

She pursed her lips, looking at him as if he had asked the most obvious question. "He uses aliases, plenty of them."

"So Kyle isn't his real name?" John questioned.

Amelia shrugged, smiling as she entered Lestrade's office. "I don't know, and since I'm in the minority about _me_ going in, I can only think to ask and send him. Anything, Greg?"

Lestrade shook his head. "No, but I want to type up all that you have on Moriarty, though, Am."

Mycroft coughed eyes steady. "I don't think that's a good idea. If he has access to the government files, and it's quite possible he does, the information is best safe in her hands. She's an outside party."

"Who has been _brought_ to the inside," Lestrade countered.

"Who doesn't let anyone really look at them and keeps them on her person at all times," Amelia butted in, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock, keeping her eyes on Lestrade.

Sherlock glanced at her, returning his attention back to his phone. "Your memory good, Amelia?"

She smiled and replied in the positive, reclining back in her chair. Her hair was bundled in braids at random, and her clothes were lazily big and draping across her figure, except her trainers, which were fit on her small feet and tied tightly.

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked Amelia, stepping in front of her.

She frowned, lifting her head to keep his gaze. "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You're flushed, and it's chilly and rainy out."

Her frown turned into a smile before waving at him. "Nah, I'm fine. I'm all bundled up; it's just a bit of allergies from the cleaning supplies at the hotel." Clearing her throat, she let her eyes follow Mycroft around the room as he paced for a moment. "Myc, that's your 'I've just thought of something' stance."

He chuckled a bit, nodding and coming to a stop. "Yes, it just occurred to me that your friend, this Kyle whoever could be of some use. With you."

Lestrade cleared his throat with surprise. "With her? Why? Amelia can't go in."

"No, but she could. She's already contacted some of Moriarty's men for this Kyle fellow, but if she's gotten to them, they're not going to let her go. How'd you contact them?"

Amelia sighed softly, shrugging. "I was… I went to a couple of different people who were named by my contacts."

"Against our word?" Lestrade demanded, loud enough for Amelia to bow her head like a scolded child.

"It was to get us started, Gregory. It's not like I gave them a real name. I didn't even use my proper name for the hotel."

"Amelia," Lestrade said tone tight, "I told you before, you're a profiler. I don't want you going in."

Mycroft took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm the tension down. "Look, Detective Inspector, when I first met Amelia, she was 15. I thought she was just some out of luck girl, but word got around that I needed help and she helped me. Obviously, I hadn't encouraged her, but she aided me anyway. Infiltration is her specialty. She's a human tracking device. You may hire her for profiling, but she _can_ do more. We can use her friend, but they wouldn't suspect Amelia."

"I have many personas, Greg."

"Won't it be suspicious if you keep coming here or Mycroft's?" John inquired, drawing attention to him.

"She has a prepaid phone, John," Sherlock said, finally speaking. "Along with her personal one. It's not odd if she uses her prepaid phone to have them contact her. Many shady businessmen have more than one phone. They'd see her as having experience."

"I don't like it," declared Lestrade.

"You're outnumbered, Greg," Amelia said with a grin. "Now, how about I use Katrina Jones, the drug addict? She's quiet, but knows her way around the streets. She's a dealer, and well off. The only reason she still deals is because she likes the danger, and she can't really get out of the life she built."

"Established, I see," murmured Sherlock disdainfully.

"Had an employer with an addict wife," she informed him, crossing her legs primly, lie falling out easy for Mycroft's sake.

Of course Sherlock wouldn't remember Katrina. He had been so strung out, he hardly recognized himself in the mirror when Mycroft and Amelia hauled him to a hotel bathroom to wash his face and arms. She hadn't stayed long, but it was enough to let her see the danger in the Holmes brothers - Mycroft a man of power and Sherlock of physical strength. After that, Amelia had kept out of London most of the time to keep from Mycroft.

Greg exhaled noisily. "I don't like it," he repeated. "But I'll help set you up, give you essentials. Let's get started."

"May the games begin," she announced.

John and Mycroft were the only ones to notice how her statement sounded much like Sherlock when receiving he received a case.


	4. Petition For Author Rights

Greetings to the fine folk that moderate our site.

Myself, along with many, have been writing and posting on your fine site for years now, some of the better examples of up and coming writers out there are now suddenly finding some of the stories we've come to love at risk of being removed without the chance to even rectify our errors.

For some, that means the permanent loss of a story. While I don't have anything that I believe violates your terms of use, there are those out there that are never able to recover a story in its original form, this is something I find to be almost worthy of a legal action, as while we cannot claim ownership of a character, the stories are OURS and simply destroying them is something that is inexcusable.

It's quite easy to simply add an MA rating, additional filters or even a simple requirement for a free membership to read the stories presented here, and would cut down on hateful anonymous reviews and posts at the same time, so I have to question as to why such a thing, in all this time, simply wasn't added.

If you're worried about falsification of a registration then have an appropriate disclaimer and then there can be no dispute, you took your steps and the PARENTS didn't monitor their children, if that is even your concern. If it is more of a personal view or desire then please at least let people know and give them a chance to remove a story that you and yours find offensive, most people on the site are actually rather cordial when it comes to such requests.

While I cannot say for sure if this letter will even reach those that may be willing to listen, of if it's more akin to a wide spectrum purge in preparation for something bigger, please understand that you are going to be looseing a LARGE number of your writers, and thus your income from a lack of readers if there is not some level of action taken to help with this situation.

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If you could do what some other authors have done and post this petition as a temporary new chapter on some of your stories to help spread the word? It would help a lot; it's how I found out about this.


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